


A Time of Reckoning

by Chriothirite



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Dragons, First time writing, Fluff, M/M, Peep wentz, Sassy witch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:31:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6819328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chriothirite/pseuds/Chriothirite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz, a young prince from a non-disclosed olden day time, gets caught up in a mess he thought he left behind years ago...<br/>A Witch, some elves, and a dragon awaits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Fateful Encounter

The night was spun from the shining threads of moonlight. The hush of a quiet wind blew through the meadows and over the town, taking with it the remainders of yesterdays past, readying the land for the next day. From his window in the castle overlooking the land, young Peter sighed and gazed across the sparkling sky. The stars. They shone for him tonight. They were like small beacons to him, calling him upwards to a new, unseen land. His toes quivered from the effort of holding his small body up to the window and he dropped down to even ground. He hopped off the small box he had used to prop himself high enough to see those radiant lights that entranced him so.  
-  
Dragging the box away from underneath the window, he replaced it at the foot of his bed. He climbed atop it once more, throwing himself down onto the soft mattress below. The sun would rise in a few hours, he knew, but the boyish sense of adventure that came with being an eight-year-old and a mischievous prince would not let him fall back asleep. His eyebrows creased and he crinkled his nose as he searched for something to ease his insomniatic boredom.  
There was a clatter and clink of keys from behind his door as another watchman was given guard duty. How was a boy like him supposed to stretch his spirit when he was kept under constant lock and key?

~~~~~~~~

The air outside his window wavered and warped ever so slightly and Peter sat straight up as if summoned by the noise it created. He stared at his window, confused. Surely there couldn't be anything able to make a noise like that outside, was there? Another patch of air twisted and shifted, this time within his room, shuffling and huffing into existence. Peter thought he could hear a faint voice hissing in a hushed undertone;

"Shh...shh... He'll hear us!"

Peter, feeling brave, proclaimed boldly:  
"I can hear you."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood haughtily, facing the general direction he thought the voice had been coming from. There seemed to be a stunned silence from the disembodied voice before he heard a different voice mutter:  
"Shit, shit, is it wearing off already?"

There seemed to be a whispered argument about who told who what while Peter looked on - at nothing but air. He frowned; these beings must be such vulgar creatures to use such vulgar language. Mind you, Peter only guessed it was a vulgar word because he wasn't allowed to think it, let alone say it so others could hear.  
Another disturbance in the air. This time it was closer to Peter than he expected and he stepped back, startled. The air rippled, warping like a droplet of water dropped into a still lake, fanning out from its origin and distorting all that was behind it in a disturbing effect. Peter's stomach twisted with foreboding nausea.

"I can see you now, too" he claimed.

If questioned, he probably wouldn't be able to prove this, so he hoped the things were too preoccupied with concealing themselves to do so.  
The rippling effect continued. It amplified so that the ripple ridges were at least the width of his hands.  
Until it suddenly dissolved.  
From small flakes, the ripples were soon reduced to nothing but specks of dust. They glowed golden before fading to reveal two people, only four feet tall. They were not dwarves, per se, but merely scaled down versions of regular sized people. His bold claim was certainly true now. He could see them. They both had medium olive green toned skin, which contrasted with Peter's smokey topaz. They looked rather nice, which was surprising for two small people who had nothing better to do other than break into young princes' bedrooms at night.

Their noses were straight and strong. Peter fancied they'd make perfect right angled triangles if viewed from a profile. Apart from their perfectly triangles noses and olive skin they were relatively normal- though Peter could make neither head nor tails of their genders. He didn't ask about this, as he thought he might be inadvertently rude to his new, uninvited guests, and frankly it wasn't any of his business.  
Instead he raised an eyebrow and put his hands on his hips, as if to say he-didn't-have-all-night, and what-in-gods'-name-did-they-want. The people froze like deers caught in headlights. Instead of hastily retreating the people stood, wide eyed and gawking at him as if they hadn't figured out they were now visible. Or perhaps they were just really, really slow. It must have been a few minutes and the people were still staring at him as if they had never seen a human like him before. It was beginning to freak him out. Peter crept a little closer, edging towards the sideboard that sat in between him and the two people. They shifted slightly at the movement.

As Peter got closer, the people thawed. They probably sensed what he was doing because just as he reached the sideboard to grab and throw a vase, they threw up some sort of barrier. The vase bounced off, crashing to the ground. Peter hastily snatched the dagger that was hidden behind it, brandishing it in what he hoped was a threatening manner. The barrier glowed pink and seemed to wrap around the other beings' bodies, settling to a dull shine. Peter knew they had shielded themselves so the dagger wouldn't hurt them, but he felt braver nonetheless. The people put up their hands and smiled slightly.

"We mean no harm," they said in tandem.

The brown haired one nudged the other blond one and hissed:  
'One at a time! The double voices just sounds creepy!' That bought a sheepish look from the blond one and brown-hair mirrored the expression to Peter. Brown-hair looked sternly at the other and turned back to him, presenting a smile that was off around the edges.

"Don't pretend you ever forgot about us, Pete. We were your friends."

Peter's eyes widened and his grip on the dagger weakened. These two... they were the ones... Peter tightly gripped the fabric over his chest and felt the concealed scar burning down the middle of his torso. The two people in front of him lowered their hands and their smile twisted towards menacing.  
With inhuman speed, Blondie whipped their hand in Peter's direction. He slumped as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him. Before passing out on the ground, he heard a mutter that sounded like:  
"You are the sand bottom half of the hourglass, glass."

~~~~~~~~

When Peter awoke it was daylight, and strangely yellow. All he could hear was the sounds of nature. Some dripping. He was inside though. He knew he wasn't in the castle, because in any direction, any sort of forest or nature was over a kilometer away.  
He wasn't in the castle.  
He'd been kidnapped.  
Oh no.  
Peter twitched as he thought of what his father would do.  
Oh no.

The sloping, yellow wall that curved upwards to become the ceiling seemed to pulse slowly. Wow, there was some weird stuff going on. Peter rolled over and kneeled in the dust, discovering his space on the (yellow) floor. His hand instinctively flew up to his chest when a familiar whisper hissed out from somewhere in the (yellow) room;  
"Tonight is all about we miss you, Pete."

"Remember, these friends are; new friends are golden, Pete."

He almost jumped out of his skin when he felt the exhale of air from the second whisper brush against his neck.

Clearing his throat, he tried to shuffle himself away from the taunting whispers. Those two. Those... creeps. He grimaced and gulped in a breath of air to steady himself, scrunching his pyjamas into a ball with his small fist.

"When you went, I forgot everything about you. How? But you two, I know you again? Now?" He made a face and frowned in confusion. This was too much for him.

"Oh, poor Pete, he's so confused. I don't think we should tell him." He almost heard the fake pout in the taunting voice. Which one? Blondie?

"You're in some deep trouble now, punk."

Blondie appeared. They looked down at their now-visible body and sneered in disappointment. There was a sigh from behind them and Brown-hair shimmered into existence, walking to Blondie and proceeding to fiddle with something on their wrist.

Blondie peered haughtily at Brown-hair.

"I wish I was as invisible as you, Urie."

Urie glanced angrily once at Peter then back at the other.

"Suck it, Marinara."

Peter shrank back from the arguing figures, confused and frightened by their harsh tones. They were too preoccupied with bickering with each other to notice his unease or the way their voices caused him to shudder. No doubt they would enjoy it. They had already demonstrated that the last time they and Peter had met...

~~~~~~~~~~~~


	2. Where Did We Go Wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FLASHBACK:
> 
> we leave our creepy friends in their strangely yellow room to go back to when Peter was 6, and had just begun to make imaginary friends. Here we see how Peter gained his scar, and what made the childish meeting of the imaginary friends so strange.  
> How can a little boy have imaginary friends if he never made them up?  
> (all supposed to be in italics)

"So your name is Urie, right?"   
He pointed to the brown haired kid, now pronounced 'Urie', before moving to point at the blonde one next to him;  
"And your name is Mariana!"   
They both nodded in agreement.  
"Petition to call Mariana fish face," Urie muttered  
"No that's mean!" Peter shot back. The poor kid was only six and already had to play mediator between these two warring factions.  
"Give it a rest Urie," Mariana rolled their eyes at the name, somewhat grateful for the child's innocent interjection.  
"Fine, fine, but I'm bored we should go find something fun to do."  
"Oh! We can go sneak into the kitchen! I do that a lot but they don't really mind," Peter suggested excitedly.  
"Lead on then Pete," Mariana replied before Urie could open his mouth to complain.  
With an excited grin, Peter grabbed their hands and dragged them along with his bubbling pace, down hallway after hallway that made up the castle he lived in, before abruptly stopping to step flush against the wall.  
"Wha-" Urie started to ask before they were quickly silenced by a small hand over their mouth  
"We have to be quiet to sneak properly! The kitchen is right around the corner," he hissed to his companions.

Following his lead, his new friends copied his movements as they slipped into the kitchen, ducking behind shelves and stoves to poorly conceal themselves from view.  
"Psst Pete, I dare you to steal a knife from over there," Mariana whispered, pointing to a stand holding several knives of varying sizes.  
"But why?" He whispered in return  
"What, are you scared?" Urie joined in with a teasing whisper  
"N-No!" Peter defended himself with puffed up cheeks, indignant at the suggestion  
"Then go!"   
Mariana gave him a tiny shove and he stumbled forward unsteadily before looking up at the stand. There was no way he was tall enough to reach them. Quickly looking around for a prop of some sort. His eyes fell on an empty crate used to carry vegetables, and he grinned brightly before running over to drag it towards the bench.  
He clambered on top of it, glancing back at his friends who were motioning for him to hurry up before reaching towards the knives.  
Just a little further!   
He stretched upwards until he was able to pull out the smallest knife, staring at the way it glinted sharply in the light.  
"Pete hurry back!" Urie hissed, snapping him out of his daze. He jumped off the crate and proudly deposited the blade in Mariana's hand.  
"Who's scared now?"  
-  
"Prince Peter?"  
He spun around at the voice and use of his name, discovering one of the many chefs who worked in the royal kitchen towering over him.  
"What are you doing? You know you're not supposed to be in here!" She scolded sharply  
"It's all Urie's fault!" He passed the blame onto his friend quickly with a point of his finger  
The chef glanced to where Peter indicated and found nothing but empty space.  
"Kids and their imaginations," she muttered with a slow shake of her head,   
"Alright you tell Urie off for me? Now get out of here."  
Peter didn't protest when he was ushered out of the kitchen and as soon as the chef was out of earshot he scolded Mariana who hadn't stopped laughing since the chef had arrived on the scene,   
"We could have gotten in a lot of trouble because of your dumb dare!"  
"Yeah but we didn't," the other pointed out with a grin.  
Urie huffed, "well either way it was still boring."  
Peter frowned at Urie's complaint before brightening, "I know! We can go play outside!"  
And off he went again, dragging his two unimpressed friends along with him as he navigated his way to the front door.  
"Good luck trying to open that," Mariana scoffed, taking in how unnecessarily big it was.  
"We're going through the window!" Peter announced with a smile and a vague wave of his hand towards the open window up a small flight of stairs, which he quickly ran up with his tow.  
-  
"Okay, you've lost it if you think I'm going to jump out of that," Urie glanced down at the fall with a frown.  
"It's easy! Come on!" And before they could complain any further he was standing on the windowsill, tightly gripping their hands so they had no option but to stand up there with him if they didn't want to land awkwardly and break their neck.  
"And on three!"  
"Kid no cmon-" Urie spluttered  
"One!"  
"Pete this isn't-" Mariana choked out  
"Two, three!"  
And down, down, down they went before landing in a pile hay stored under the window.  
Peter quickly thrashed his way out laughing, "now who's scared!"   
His two companions quickly followed, grumbling at how they had reacted to the jump.  
"Well now what?" Mariana sneered in disdain.  
"Uh..."  
"I have a game we could play Pete," Urie murmured with a grin  
"Okay! What's it called?" He replied excitedly, eager to pay something new.  
"It's called ‘Dungeons and Dragons’. It's fun I promise."  
"Alright how do I play?" Peter leapt at the idea.  
"First we have to go....this way!" Urie turned around and started running, Mariana in tow.  
-  
Peter laughed and chased after the other two to the small barn he often saw from his window. It appeared to be abandoned with its cracked, broken windows and ceiling with panels of wood missing. If he looked closely he could see where birds had nested in the gaps.  
"C'mon! In here!" Urie pushed open the unhinged door and the other two slipped into the barn after him.  
"So this how we play! You listening Pete?"  
The prince nodded eagerly, paying close attention to Urie as they explained the new game.  
"Good. So you're the Dragon right? And Mariana and I are the knights come to save the damsel in distress."  
"Am I a bad Dragon?" Peter tilted his head to one side curiously  
"Extremely," Mariana chimed in, "You've been terrorising the village so we're going to slay you!"  
Peter looked unsure of this.  
"Do I have to be bad?"  
Urie scoffed, Mariana nodding furiously.  
"All Dragons are bad," Urie sneered.  
"I suppose." He nodded, understanding but a little sad.  
"Exactly. So Pete, you go lay on the table alright?"  
The prince nodded again, suddenly cheerful. He pranced over to pull himself on top of the wooden surface and lay on it obediently.  
-  
"Okay we're just going to copy what they do to Dragons and tie you down now alright?"  
"Okay!" Peter chirped, excited to play the game.  
Urie snickered, pulling himself to sit on the edge of the table while Mariana tied rope around Peter's wrists and ankles before trying it around his waist so he couldn't squirm off the table.  
"Now brave Knight Mariana, if you could pass me my sword."  
Peter watched as the knife he had swiped earlier was passed to Urie.  
Mariana stared at Peter strangely and smiled.   
"You've been a very bad Dragon Pete. You've swallowed the damsel whole and we have to cut her out of you."  
Suddenly Peter didn't feel like this was a game anymore. The afternoon sunlight glinting harshly off the sharp blade twisted his stomach into uncomfortable knots.  
"I-I don't think I want to play anymore," he murmured with a shudder.  
"We have to free the damsel Pete, it'll only take a minute," Urie murmured softly, a grin on their face as they softly caressed Peter's cheek in a comforting manner, the tip of the knife resting on his collarbone.  
With a small sound of protest, Peter tried to wriggle away but the ropes that tied him down were expertly tied and he could do nothing but squirm, his movements causing the rope to chafe painfully against his skin.  
"Accept your fate dragon," Urie snickered, pressing the blade down to pierce his flesh, Peter's cries of pain fueling their twisted grin.  
Peter tried to curl in on himself, the feeling of the cold, unforgiving metal in his flesh making him want to hurl in sheer terror.  
-  
"Knight Mariana, can you please entrance the awful villain with a song."  
Mariana hopped up to sit near Peter's head, softly caressing his hair in a soothing motion as they quietly sung a soft tune.

"Allow me to exaggerate a memory or two..."

Peter whimpered quietly, the tune doing nothing but making the situation more sickening and horrific to the small boy.

"Where summers lasted longer than, longer than we do..."

He let out another loud cry as Urie pressed the knife in further, his abuser's amused laughter ringing in his ears as he tried to pull against his bonds in hopes of escaping with little success.

"And nothing really mattered except for me to be with you..."

Peter clenched his teeth, trying not to give the boys the satisfaction of hearing him scream out more than he needed too.  
"C'mon Dragon, cry for us," Urie taunted.  
He dug his fingernails into the wooden table, the pinprick of splinters beneath his nails barely noticeable compared to the overwhelming pain the cut was causing.

"But in time we all forgot and we all grew."

The horrible sound of the knife cutting through his flesh with no resistance made his urge to throw up stronger, Urie's echoing laugh a sick addition to the situation.  
Displeased with the lack of response from his victim, Urie pressed the knife in further and Peter couldn't help but scream out in pain, writhing against his bonds.

"The songs never been such as sweet,"

Peter gagged, the pain and the feeling of his own blood pooling around him twisting his stomach into a horrible nausea. The taste of bile in his mouth only making him feel worse as the sharp blade continued its descent past his ribs.

"As the first time it was sung,"

The fingers threading themselves in a calming motion through his hair did little to ease the poor boy as he screamed to the sky, hoping, praying that someone would hear his tortured sounds of pain

"With a little bit more character for show,"

Peter had lost his voice, his very throat feeling as if it was bleeding, as he weakly pulled against his restraints. Tilting his head up, he tried to scream at the stars that twinkled uncaring above him but nothing except a dry, panicked exhale of air escaped his lips.

"And by the time your father's heard of all the wrong you've done..."

Urie leant back to admire their work, leaving the knife sticking out of the young prince's flesh as they took in the boy's condition. The cut ran from just under his collar bone, straight down, to finally stop at his bellybutton. Peter was limp against the table, his throat raw from his constant cries of pain, red chafe marks from the rope bled around his wrists, ankles and waist. Dried tears sparkled against the pale colour Peter had turned due to blood loss. Scarlet red pooled around the boy's limp form, dripping off the table to splash onto the ground below.

"Then I'm putting out the lantern find your own way back home..." 

\---

Mariana's song trailed off, the tune echoing in the boy's ears as he tried to remain conscious through the pain. The gentle fingers removed themselves from his hair and he felt a small amount of relief at their removal.  
"Well. We freed the damsel Pete, and now we must take the long journey home."  
With that, the two slid off the table, their clothes soaked in Peter's life.  
Brokenly, the boy tried to call out to their retreating forms, weakly demanding an explanation, a reason, a hopeful cry to be freed. However all that came out was a quiet rasp and all he received was the echoing howls of the two laughing before the hinged door was closed, sealing his fate as the world spun to black.

~~~~~~~~

".....hey..!"  
"Is it....?"  
The boy faintly heard the shouts and clanging of armour outside the barn and he tried to call out, desperate to get their attention but he could barely croak out a plea for help.  
"...check....the prince...!"  
The words came in pieces and Peter could barely keep himself conscious enough to process all the words they shouted. The protesting creak of old wood echoed in the small barn as the unhinged, broken door was pushed open, before the clatter entered the room. Peter twitched his fingers towards the presence desperately in an attempt to gain their attention.  
Immediately the guard hurried over to the table and Pete felt a rush of relief, the guard’s shouts that they had found him the last thing he remembered before the darkness sucked him back into it's depths.  
-  
"Is he going to...?  
"...we'll see...he's..."  
The hushed, worried tones of his father and an unfamiliar voice reached him through the cocoon of warmth he was submerged in and he stretched his fingers towards the voices before passing out again.

-

The room was blindingly bright and he squinted against the harsh light, looking over to see his father slumped in a chair next to him. He tried to call out to him, to tell him about what happened, but his voice was still nothing more than a dry rasp that was lost in the empty space. Nonetheless his father seemed to notice that he was awake and rose to sternly lean over him, causing Peter to painfully shrink away from him in fear.  
"Listen closely Peter because this is the only warning you will receive. You are not to leave the castle grounds alone. You will be escorted at all times. Are we clear?"  
Peter blinked and nodded his head slightly, the pain of his wound reopening from the movement dragging him back into the depths of unconsciousness.

~~~~>==


	3. A Daring Escape?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Peter escape the house unharmed? Read and weep bc probably not.

Peter's feet shuffled as he tried to distance himself from his two abusers. He hadn't left the castle without an escort since the incident and now he had, though he had always been tempted, the feelings that came from defying the order wasn't as exhilarating as he had expected. He was scared for the most part. His eyes widened nervously, apprehensive as to why the two had brought him out here now.  
He breathed out a quiet "oh no," before frowning and trying to put on a brave face against the two had caused him such horrific pain so many years ago.  
"Did you hear that Mariana? It seems our beloved friend doesn't want to see us!" Urie grinned, a sharp contrast to the false disappointment in their voice.  
"What a pity Urie. And we used to have so much fun too."  
"Your idea of fun almost killed me!" Peter spat, his grandeur of anger disfigured by the shudders that wracked his body at their sickeningly familiar taunting tone.  
"Almost, Pete, but we didn't" Urie argued back gleefully.  
"You should be grateful for that Pete, one could even say that you owe us for letting you get off easy," Mariana chimed in with a smile that set Peter's stomach roiling.  
"Owe you? I don't owe you anything!" He protested, trying to ignore the rising fear that being in the presence of these two caused him.  
"On the contrary," Urie hummed, slowly stepping closer to Peter, emphasising the sound of their shoes clicking on the yellow floor, "you owe us your life."  
Peter had shuffled back so much that when he tried to step backwards more his frail form bumped against the sloping wall. His lip trembled and he bit it so as to not betray any more weakness.  
Urie smiled, and their face was that of every bad dream Peter had ever had.  
The smile turned into a sneer and they pressed a hand forcefully against Peter's chest, pinning him to the wall and making him tilt his head down against the wall, closer to Urie's. Urie's hand darted up to Peter's face and they caressed his cheek softly with their knuckles.  
Urie squinted and brought their face closer to Peter's, taking Peter's small chin in between two equally small fingers. Peter whimpered and shut both his mouth and eyes tightly. He was afraid of these two. Very afraid. Peter attempted to turn his face away, to increase the distance between Urie and him even a little bit, but the 4-foot Urie had the strength of a 6-foot knight.  
"No..." Peter mumbled. Mariana chuckled from somewhere in the room. Peter's current captor's head slowly turned to look at their counterpart. From behind his eyelids, Peter could almost see the malicious smile blooming in Urie's face. Peter realised then that his arms were free but was too paralysed in fear of their punishment if he attempted to escape. He didn't know where the exit was, for starters.  
-

Mariana suddenly appeared next to Peter's face. His eyes flew open and a choked noise forced its way out of Peter's throat. Mariana mimicked the noise condescendingly and smiled sweetly.  
"You're gonna take something for us, Pete."  
Urie let go of his chin and placed both hands on Peter's torso, their face still inches away from Peter's.  
"Wanna know where we are, Pete? We're in the Karyan woods!" Urie made a face like a piano, too many teeth like keys and a horrible sound like he didn't know how to play them.  
The piano knows something he doesn't know.  
Peter grimaced and plead with his eyes.  
"Where am I really, Urie?"  
"We're in the witch's house!" Mariana interjected, singing the interruption like the bird that got the worm. Urie sneered and nodded in tense agreement.  
"You're going to steal us a new toy from the witch, Pete." Urie trialed a finger down Peter's scar, leaving a path of flame on his skin.  
Urie grinned.  
"Or else."

~~~~~~~~

If there was one thing Peter was glad for, it was that he didn't have any heart problems. Especially with all the strain he had put on it lately. Even now, it pounded loudly in his throat as he slowly crept through yellow building.  
"Look kid, all you gotta do is climb downstairs and steal the dragon. Done."  
Peter exhaled a puff of air, trying to relax his tensed muscles as his instructions rung uncomfortably in his ears. Slowly, quietly, he stepped down the yellow stairs, trying to support his weight on his shaky legs.  
The colour scheme all of a sudden switched to a forest green. Peter, so focused on keeping his footing and not making a step creak, only noticed because halfway down the staircase the steps turned green. The witch had a certain knack for interior painting, that's for sure. Startled by the incongruence, Peter snapped his head up to survey the emerging room. The surfaces were all painted different shades of green... At least 50.  
-  
In a stark but pleasant contrast, hundreds of small brown pieces of wood in the shape of animals were strewn across the surfaces. The tables and chairs had clusters of wooden toy carvings on them. Peter could see a swarm of insects piled on one chair, and a flock of birds perched on the nearest side table. The witch was certainly talented in this aspect. Momentarily distracted by the carvings, Peter forgot about the looming threat of his abusers and reached out to touch a particularly detailed flamingo. The tiny feathers etched into the wood seemed like at any moment they would move and ruffle... And they did. Peter's eyes widened as the flamingo turned his head to stare at him, ruffling its feathers in a motion that said 'intruder!'. It opened its mouth in a silent squawk that roused its brethren.  
In a moment the room was filled with the creaks of wood and chattering of hundreds of tiny mouths opening and closing in silent alarm and aggression. Peter spun around, frantically trying to locate a dragon among the hoards of brown now all paying attention to him.  
The flamingos got more and more agitated as he desperately searched through the mass of wooden objects and carvings. What colour was a dragon anyway? A grandfather clock ticking away slowly in the corner finally chimed out loudly and suddenly, the sound causing Peter to flinch hard enough to knock over several trembling Herons. With a creak that couldn't be related back to their bodies, the birds stretched their necks and got to their feet with angry glares at the intruder.  
-  
"Oh no," Peter breathed, instinctively stepping back from the upset wooden creatures. He had to find that dragon, and quickly but where on earth was it? From the myths he had heard whispers of, they weren't easy to hide. A glint of pink and purple peeked out from behind a lime-green cupboard, a wisp of smoke curling around the hinges. The unfriendly wooden birds crowded closer to the Prince, crowing silent threats as he tried to think his way around them.  
The birds seemed to multiply, various mammals and reptiles nipping at Peter’s pant-legs as he made his way valiantly towards the lime cupboard. After a few moments there were so many wooden animals Peter was almost miming a moonwalk.  
Progress was slow.  
A purple snout peeked out, its golden eyes boring into Peter’s.  
He had to take it.  
Or else.  
-  
He waded through the ocean of small animals, trying with increasing urgency to reach the dragon. It slithered up the side of the cupboard like a lizard, coming to a stop on the countertop. The dragon glanced once at the sink that blended almost perfectly into the counter. It didn’t seem very concerned. Through the mass of chattering and creaking of hundreds of wooden bodies Peter couldn’t hear anything else. The dragon creeped a little closer to the edge of the counter, now interested in the new visitor whose progress its brethren were clamouring to halt.  
It coughed, and Peter paused in wonder at the small puff of smoke that somehow came from its tiny mouth. It occurred to him that this tiny creature could potentially cause a fair amount of injury as he cautiously held out a hand to it.  
Peter held his breath.  
The dragon stretched its head out to sniff at the digits, and he let out a puff of air as it seemed comfortable with his presence. The clattering screeches of the wooden creatures rekindled his awareness of how little time he had left to complete the task he had been sent by the two who made his blood boil with fear and anguish.  
Quickly scooping up the sparkling dragon, he murmured soothing sounds as it panicked from the sudden contact, before attempting to push through the volatile objects in front of him. Their wooden beaks hooked in his clothes, the sound of ripping fabric harmonising with the clatter of the birds' snapping.  
-  
Peter shielded the dragon with his arms as he desperately pushed at the mass of wood surrounding him, trying to flee with both he and the dragon staying in one piece. The feel of the tips of their beaks scraping along the skin of his ankles and legs, numbed by the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Trampling enough of them to reach a door, he tugged it open and ducked out into a hallway before heaving it closed.  
Breathing heavily he looked down at the small dragon that had dug its claws into his arm in panic. He winced as he carefully tried to detach it. It offered a cloud of smoke in protest and dug its claws in further. He hastily left it alone as the sharp pain shot up his arm.  
With his arm thoroughly dragoned, Peter turned in a circle to see where to go next. He frowned, desperate, as the claws of the anxiety in his stomach mimicked the claws on his arm.

~~~~~~~~  
"There is a big difference between a cauldron and someone trying to sell a sink painted silver I mean honestly!"  
The sound of the front door downstairs being slammed closed echoed throughout the witch's house, and said witch's heels clacking on the stairs to the kitchen soon joining the symphony of wood.  
"You'd think that us Witches have enough troubles as it is without members of our own community trying to trick us too!" He grumbled as he sailed through his house, opening cupboards and drawers to lazily throw in items he had probably purchased on his travels downtown.  
Peter, hiding behind a door to what looked like a living room with chairs placed haphazardly underneath clothes and other items, looked around the room in panic as he heard the witch coming towards him. Spotting a curtain, he quickly ducked behind it to try and stand as still as possible just as the door was thrown open and the witch burst into the room. The dragon wrapped around his arm made small sounds of panic at the sudden darkness that surrounded it and Peter quickly tried to soothe it with gentle strokes, whilst the sound of the witch moving around the room with dramatic sighs of annoyance on the other side of the curtain refuelled his need to be as quiet as possible.  
Peter, distracted by keeping still, accidentally poked the dragon in the face instead of stroking it. The dragon seemed offended by this and twirled up his arm, onto his shoulder and under his shirt. Peter squeaked slightly as the dragon's claws dug into his skin and pressed his lips together in horror of the noise.  
‘Oh no oh no oh no…’ Peter chanted in his head.  
-  
There was a strange silence from the room. Peter imagined the witch was staring right at his hiding place and deciding which death spell he would like to use the most.  
A floorboard creaked.  
The curtain trembled from Peter's panicked breathing.  
A rustle of fabric. Peter shut his eyes.  
“Where on earth are all my potion bottles? I swear, if someone thought it was a good idea to use them to drink out of, I don't pity what happens to them.”  
Peter breathed out in relief as the witch audibly shrugged, forcefully set a bottle down on the windowsill and twirled away from the curtain. The dragon twitched its tail, displeased with the sudden puff of air that was exhaled on it. Peter glanced down at the dragon, noticing how it had started to get increasingly warmer and found two bright purple eyes staring back unhappily. Surely this small dragon wouldn't be able to create a flame yet. As if reading his thoughts, the dragon dug its sharp claws in deep and spat a spark at the curtain.  
-  
Peter knew he would be found no matter how quiet he was, so he didn't bother to suppress his yelp of pain and surprise as the curtain immediately caught and started burning like it was made of straw.  
“What the fuck?”  
Peter could could the witch’s exclamation of surprise but could do nothing but cough, the heavy weight of the smoke curling down his throat and into his lungs. Flailing his arms, he managed to dislodge the curtain enough to inhale the cool air. Burning hot flames licked teasingly up his leg, as if inviting him to stay and burn with them. The dragon seemed amused by the whimpers of pain the fire caused and he glared at it before finally wrenching himself free of the burning drapes.  
“Hey! Who the hell are you?”  
Peter jerked his head up to see the witch, who was fumbling with what appeared to be a spellbook, glaring at him. Panicking, he attempted to run out the door that was invitingly wide open. In his hurry he didn't notice the ropes for the curtain had curled around his ankles until they were tugging him back to the floor. He let out a cry which soon turn into a cough as he inhaled the smoke that only seemed to be spreading, blanketing the room with its heavy acrid scent.  
“Fuck, I know it's here somewhe-aha!” the witch triumphantly snapped the heavy book closed and thrust his hand to hover over the crackling hiss of the flames.  
“The Northern Downpour sends its love!”  
The witch’s fingernails glowed blue so quickly that if you happened to blink, you would not have noticed the dazzling sparkle. As it glimmered away, the witch smirked at the angry spitting of the flames before a gush of water spilled from his fingertips to thoroughly douse the angry flames. The witch grinned smugly at his work before turning his eyes to the tangled, choking mess that was Peter.  
“You.”  
Peter jerked his head up to look into the simmering, angry eyes of the witch, looking down at his tangled form.  
“So, Mr Intruder. Care to explain why you happen to be ensnared in the cords of the most fabulous curtain in this house and why said curtain is now nothing but a pile of ash?”  
Peter swallowed uncomfortably, the inviting smile of the man anything but pleasant in his current situation.  
“W-well I-”  
Peter was cut off by the dragon which, upon hearing the witch’s voice, had crawled out from under Peter’s arm to make small happy noises to its owner.  
“So,” the dragon was scooped up and Peter felt his stomach twist in despair at its removal,  
“you thought you could steal from the renowned witch Gerard Way, boy?”  
“I-”  
“And you thought you could get away with it too I bet.”  
Gerard Way threw back his head and laughed, the sound spooking the small prince more than the raging fire that had captured him earlier.  
“I have a reputation for a reason,” the glimmer in Gerard's eyes sparkling as dangerously as the fire.  
“I-I need it!” He blurted out, his plea tumbling out in a barely comprehensible mess of fear.  
“Need it? Explain to me how a kid like you would need a dragon, one that doesn't even belong to them?” Gerard sneered, his face expressing his contempt for the young prince.  
“I-”  
“You know what? I don't care,” Gerard cut in sharply, “the point is that you thought you could steal from me and actually get away with it. And so, like all other thieving children you need to be punished.”  
Peter swallowed hard and tried again,  
“Please, M-mr Gerard sir... I need it, o-otherwise they’ll…”  
The doorway gained two small shadows, distracting Peter from the attempted sentences struggling to form in his panicked brain. The shadows warped as his two abusers paced slowly into the room, making their grand entrance.  
“Otherwise who?”  
Taking a small leap of faith, he pointed at the glimmering smirks of those who slinked in the shadows,  
“They set me up to do it!” The words tumbled out desperately but upon hearing them, Gerard’s grip on the boy only tightened.  
“You disgust me. To stoop so low as to blame my most trusted assistants, how pathetic.”  
“N-no! You have to believe me!” Peter’s frantic words causing the witch to give a smirking glance back to the two ‘assistants’ who were giggling to themselves. Gerard’s smile turned into a squint as the two people fixed their gazes hungrily on the small boy. Giving his squint now to the cowering figure he held in one fist, Gerard leant in close and whispered;  
“You don’t want to know what happened to the last kid who tried to mess with my guys.”

-

Peter’s eyes were the size of the moon. A stuttering tremor swept over his body and he struggled to free himself, hurtling for the window. He didn't even care about how it would hurt to crash through the glass at this point, he just had to escape this sick and twisted situation.  
“You're just a child!”  
“You couldn’t possibly think you could get away, right?”  
Four small hands clawed at him, trying to drag him back into the grip of the cruel, twisted torturers and their supposed boss. He desperately smashed his palms against the glass that separated his untimely doom and his freedom. Palms flat against the glass, he shoved upward but the window was held closed by more than just a lock.  
Bang! Bang! Bang!  
Peter could feel the hot sting of tears at his eyes and he beat his fists against it, making furious contact with the tauntingly cool glass. It reluctantly cracked under his frantic assaults. Wrenching away from the small but surprisingly strong grips Peter hurled his shoulder against the glass and it shattered, tinkling to the floor in a song that sang out his liberation. Gerard gave a concerned gasp - most likely for the window - and grabbed for Peter’s arm.  
In a flurry of movement Peter was swung around so his back was continuing momentum through the window, glass clawing at his shirt and tearing it off.  
Gerard’s eyes grew to saucers as the gruesome scar was brought into full view.  
Everything suddenly slowed down for Peter and he saw Gerard cast a furious look at his ‘assistants’ as their agitated expressions betrayed everything. The witch splayed out both hands, one towards the short people in a threat and one towards Peter. In an act of playful and well meant eagerness to help, the dragon jumped onto Peter’s chest, digging in its claws and flapping backwards. Fearing that the dragon would also go out the window and not noticing he had started to cast a spell on the assistants, Gerard spasmed and shot a strange purple ball of light straight at Peter’s chest. It hit the dragon as well, talons firmly embedded in his flesh. Peter continued to fall back and out the window, time passing faster than what seemed possible now. His back hit the ground and all feeling was thrust out of him from the force of the contact. All except for a burning sizzle as the dragon melted into his scar tissue. The world spun and his ears rung with a heavy symphony, but he could still faintly hear furious shouts mixed with sounds of panic. Soft muttering soon took their place. Warmth spread through him and he took a shuddering, painful breath as the noise faded and the scenery darkened until he was conscious no more.

\---------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez losing consciousness is a sure good way to change setting :^P
> 
> The next chapter is in three days time, because thats all we've written so far. Will attempt to keep up with whatever demand we have. Got ideas? PM them! (god knows we need it)


	4. He’s In A Mood, Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay so part 1 is this, were on a small hiatus because of last minute studying and exams. next part is expected to come maybe 2 weeks from now

A firm slapping on his face woke Pete reluctantly from his slumber.  
“Not… right now…” He grunted lightly and rolled over, away from the slaps, his duvet tangled in his tall and lanky form.  
“Wake UP Master Wentz! The festival’s started and you’re not even dressed!”  
The frenetic voice of his matron wrenched him away from any hope to regain sleep. Pete flopped a hand to his face and lazily pushed his frizzy black hair out of his eyes to squint accusingly at the woman. She made a comical face and gesture, a smugly questioning face and hands on hips, and in that moment he never hated another human being as much as her.   
16 and moody, Pete curled up into a ball. He leered under the duvet as he heard the matron moving to shed him of his fluffy coverings. In a burst of movement that could only come from a snake, or a pubescent boy, Pete leapt off the bed, covered the matron in the duvet and spun her around, pushing her onto his bed. The shrieks of the matron served to amuse him as she struggled to remove her newfound bindings.   
Pete quickly grabbed a dark tunic and hooded cloak, along with other items of his predetermined ‘outfit’ for the day and fled his room in the direction of his study. They were predetermined by him, of course. The matron’s idea of his royal festive wear was covered in frills and pastel hues. The padding of his socked feet echoed slightly down the cold stone corridor that lead to his haven filled with his books and warmth.   
There he could be free of the responsibilities that plagued his every waking hour, but today he wasn't going to hide away.   
He had a plan.  
-  
His footsteps quickened as he schemed and smiled to himself. Soon his casual stride was a brisk jog. A knight nodded in respect as he passed, a gesture he ignored in his semi-excited hurry.   
Two turns down to a corridor on the right, then down a flight of stairs on the left to his study. This area had only been restored recently, after his father decided that it was pointless leaving it a crumbling mess.   
Reaching around his neck, Pete pulled out the old silver key, suspended on a thin loop of faded leather. He shoved it violently into the lock and turned it to unlock the door. The door creaked in protest as he shoved it open and it shuddered under his fingers as he slammed it back closed, any urge to be careful dulled in his age.  
He needed the guards to know he was in there, and the noise would surely not go unnoticed from their posts. A single window let the light of the morning slop and pool into the room, spilling across the wooden surfaces and lighting up the dust that always managed to stay settled, no matter how many times he attempted to clean. The maids would be able to do better, he was sure, but he didn't let people into his study.   
It was his one place of peace and solitude from the constant expectations and he didn't want to clutter it with the residue of other people. Shoving the key back around his neck, Pete dumped the other items of his clothes onto the cluttered wooden desk and quickly changed before turning his attention to the old bookcase behind him. 

-

The leather bindings of old books, preserved with centuries of dust, were bathed in the morning light and he stepped forward to lightly trail his fingers along them. Pete's fingers stopped on a faded red book, with delicate gold details marked into the spine. He tugged it forward. Instead of lifting off the shelf, it simply tilted out, giving out a quiet groan. He looked on with a satisfied smirk as the bookcase shuddered in protest before slowly parting down the middle as it slid apart.  
There was nothing to tell of who built this hidden passage, he'd searched high and low, but he was grateful all the same.  
With this, he could easily give the guards who trailed him the slip, and explore the kingdom- the one always reminding him he was one day to rule it. He couldn't risk using the passage often, else he might reveal the secret, but today he would be safe. Everyone would be too busy preparing for the speech that his father would make, with not enough attention to spare for wondering where the teenage prince was. The bookcase made one final groan of complaint, and trembled to a halt, allowing a small draft into the musty study.  
\---------

Behind him the bookcase sealed closed with a final tome and Pete was plunged into complete darkness. Trepidation clouded his previous boyish excitement. This way to be expected these days. No matter how Further on down the tunnel he could see some green-tinged light play over the damp tunnel walls. Idly scratching the back of his hand, Pete stooped slightly and made his way towards the light and the freedom it symbolised for him. He shoved up the sleeves of his tunic, uncovering a patch of scaly skin on his left forearm. Great, just what he needed, a dermatological problem as well. Pete sighed and yanked the hood over his head, the progressively softer ground squishing slightly under his footsteps. A shadow shifted by the exit of the tunnel, a shuffling and restlessness that usually only came from the guards. Pete held his breath and concealed himself on the tunnel wall. A low whistling sound seemed to come from the shadow, and a key change told Pete the shadow was friendly.

To Be Continued


	5. He's In A Mood, pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part two!!

“Pssst, Pete, you there yet?” A whisper made Pete jump and he shook off the fright to reply.  
“Yeah man, I’m here. Damnit you scared me.”  
“My bad,” the voice replied sheepishly.  
Pete widened his stride to reach the end of the tunnel, nudging the shadow good-naturedly.  
“The way you were sneaking around, I thought you were a guard.”  
His companion snorted out a laugh, “If I were I'd have much nicer clothes.”  
Pete glanced sideways at him. He had offered many times to give Patrick some of his stuff -it wasn’t like he needed an entire wardrobe of glorified cloth- but Patrick had always blatantly refused; he’d said bards never had nice clothes, and he didn't want to attract the wrong kind of attention. Even now he appeared grubby next to Pete’s side.  
“You'd have already dragged me back to the castle by now,” Pete replied with a humourless grin, stepping around the shorter man to shimmy through the narrow gap between the curtains of overgrown ivy that concealed the tunnel. The first time Pete had reached the end of the tunnel, he had subjected himself to a fair helping of disappointment. The gap had been too small, each vine interwoven in an unforgiving blanket of green that prevented him from the freedom he so desperately ached for. For weeks he had tried to sneak tools down to the tunnel so that he could cut it. Finally he had succeeded in smuggling down a small pair of silver scissors that he had stolen from the sewing room of the castle. From there he had struggled and beat his fists in frustration, working at the gap until finally he could squeeze himself through.  
“I don't think I could lift you enough to haul you back,” Patrick replied playfully, following Pete through the gap with ease.  
“Not my fault you have twigs for arms,” Pete replied with a snarky grin, making Patrick mock-pout in return.  
“So what’s your plan for today seeing as everyone and their sheep are going down to the Harvest Festival? It's pretty boring.” Patrick asked, glancing back at the tunnel to make sure that they hadn’t noticeably disrupted the stubborn ivy.  
Pete was thankful for Patrick’s constant, picky vigilance about Pete’s safety. He was sure that Patrick only did it because sneaking the prince into his boring, repetitive life was thrilling but either way, he was glad that there was someone looking out for him.  
“I know, I wanted to go see it,” Pete shoved his hands into his pockets, “but without the guards and expectations, y’know?”  
“Should I cover you in dirt then?” Patrick threw some over his shoulder at Pete as he turned away from the tunnel to head through the sparse wood to the town. Pete sighed and allowed himself a smile at this casual behaviour. Being with Patrick let Pete feel normal; like he wasn’t eventually going to be making decisions for his friend’s future. It was almost nice.  
“I think you’re covered in enough dirt for the both of us, ‘trick,” Pete murmured, dusting off a shoulder.  
Patrick bent to pick up a stick, swishing it through the air as a mock sword before turning to dramatically point it at the prince’s chest.  
“En garde foul mouth!”  
“Doth thou giveth me the chance to picketh up mine weapon?” Pete shot back, raising his hands as dramatically as Patrick with an exaggerated gape.  
“Well I suppose. I mean it would be no fun beating you when you’re empty handed,” Patrick drew his ‘sword’ back slightly, making a fuss of rolling his eyes.  
Pete smirked at him and slowly reached down to grab a stick of his own, springing forward to deftly tap Patrick’s leg.  
“Arghhhh! Thou striketh me! How dastardly, striking dirty when one has given thee opportunity to be on equal grounds! Argggghh,” cried Patrick as he slowly sank to the ground, clutching his leg and coming to rest against a tree.  
“It’s too late for me now,” he whispered, “You have to go on without me…”  
Pete snorted and moved to tap Patrick on both shoulders with his stick in a regal fashion. “But where would ! be without my brave and loyal knight?”  
Patrick raised his hand and Pete firmly grasped it, pulling him up off the bark. Patrick playfully shoved Pete’s shoulder, laughing.  
“No way man you’re my knight.”  
“Rude."  
Pete shook his head at Patrick and rounded the last bend of the path to the festival. He was immediately hit with an overpowering buzz of chatter and bodies that he swore weren’t there two minutes ago, packed like sardines on the cobblestones beneath his feet. The festival was in full swing, but it was never this crowded before. Pete’s confidence dropped and he turned to Patrick, his face pleading for borrowed confidence. Patrick gave him a sympathetic smile. Crowds always felt worse than Pete expected them to be.  
“Uhm, trick? Is this.. Can we uh, skip this year?” rubbing his arm nervously, Pete couldn’t seem to meet his friend’s eyes. He was embarrassed to let it get to him this much.  
“Hey, hey, Pete. It’s okay. You wanted this, remember? Grab my arm, I’ll help you.”  
Pete clung to Patrick’s arm like a lizard’s bite as they manoeuvred their way through the press of peasants. It was silly really, Pete thought, that he was so afraid to be amongst those which he had complete control over. In a way, he was right to be worried that they’d hate him, that his subjects would find him as overbearing and arrogant as they did his father. Here, as he blended in with the rabble, he could hear every snippet of ire.  
“...throws a festival? I can’t even buy my son a cake…”  
“...stupid king, but his son’s worse, apparently…”  
“...father looks at him like he’s a bomb…”  
“...I heard he smells like an ox! Looks like one too!”  
Pete frowned at all the ridiculously exaggerated gossips, still clinging to his friend, who seemed to be the only person who liked him is this kingdom. Patrick patted Pete’s hand, regaining his attention and motioned to a stall to the side. Allowing himself to be tugged over, Pete stopped in his tracks as he had a moment of terrifying deja vu. On the stall were several porcelain dragons, brightly coloured and taunting him with unmoving, glass eyes. Patrick turned to him, beaming, and his smile was so infectious Pete couldn’t help smiling back. With pure excitement, Patrick shoved one into Pete’s face for him to see.  
“Look, Pete! Look! I love dragons so much, aren’t they so cool and cute?"   
Pete gingerly took the statue, imagining a burn in the middle of his chest. He supposed it was cute, in a scary rip-your-face-off way. Pretty badass, if he thought about it. Pete met Patrick’s enthusiastic gaze and gave him a lopsided smile.  
“Yeah of course.”  
Patrick jumped on the spot slightly and turned to the stall holder. “I’ll have this please!”  
Pete frowned, had he just given the go ahead to something? “Patrick, man, what are-”  
“I’m getting you this!” he gushed, “After all it’s your birthday!”  
Pete blinked, confused. Of course it was his birthday. He was 16, wasn’t he?  
“Uhm trick, you know I can get it myself”  
Patrick dramatically swatted the air. “Pssh, what kind of friend would I be then?”  
Pete resolved to buy him an expensive pastry in return.   



End file.
